Mrs Hudson Landlady, Not-Your-Housekeeper and Mum
by ElevenWholockian
Summary: When John and Sherlock first called Mrs Hudson 'Mum'. Don't own Sherlock! Oneshot!


**Author's Note:**_Hey! I'm back with a slightly more fluffier fanfic than my other two, so I hope you enjoy it! I was basically writing it up as fast as I could so I could get it out today, so sorry if it's not the best! :)_

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><p>"Really dear, one of these days my heart won't be able to take it."<p>

"Your heart can take anything, it was certainly able to handle Sherlock's little resurrection." John tried to say, but it came out as garbled nonsense with some intelligible words, every nook and cranny of his mouth was filled with Mrs Hudson's delightful baked goods.

"Yes, after she finished the high-pitched screaming and whatever you were doing with your hands." Sherlock interjected, rubbing his ears as though the noise haunted him even now.

"Oi! Less of that attitude, young man!" Mrs Hudson was glaring at Sherlock in the same way all mother's do when their child talked back to them, "I'll put your rent up! God knows I need the money what with all your experiments and bloody gunshots at some ungodly hour of the morning! Some of us need our sleep!"

"Yes, I know, that's all you ever seem to do now." Mrs Hudson squeaked indignantly.

John could see she was getting herself pent up, the danger signs were there. And he did not want to play another round of _'Throw-whatever-you-can-at-Sherlock's-general-direction'. _John hadn't played it himself, but he was sure Mr Chatterjee in Speedy's had a fine collection of bruises and cuts to show for it when he played it with her. Well, she played it with him, Mr Chatterjee wasn't doing much apart from cowering in the bathroom.

Sherlock just picked up his Strad and played a particularly _not-very-ear-friendly_ tune in response, or noise, John wasn't sure what to call it. Sherlock began increasing the pitch.  
>Definitely noise.<p>

"You're a lucky man, John, you don't have to put up with the noise any more, do you?" John shook his head, thoroughly enjoying the affronted look Sherlock was throwing his way, as if he didn't know that John would need several operations on his ear to get it back to its former condition after living with Sherlock for two years.

Mrs Hudson began to clear up all the plates that had been practically licked clean, not leaving even a crumb of food left. Still, at least they didn't eat the plate, small mercies, eh?

"Thanks again for the cake, Mrs H." John said cheerfully, the phrase _'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach'_ was never more truer than with John Watson.

"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper!" Both men chuckled at Mrs Hudson's iconic catchphrase, "And I won't be doing this every time you end up nearly burnt to a crisp! Heaven knows that you live a dangerous life already, with him as your best friend!"

John opened up the morning newspaper, with a light chuckle, covering up his flinch at the memory, he still recovering from the fact that he had been used a Bonfire Night sacrifice not three days ago, but Mrs Hudson was not going to let the matter go, "I mean it John, and you Sherlock, you've only been back ten minutes and John's nearly died! Twice! My heart really can't take much more of this at my time of life."

"Sorry Mum."

Mrs Hudson done a double take before tearing up with a fond smile on her face, John just called her _'Mum'._

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><p>"<em>I'm fine!<em>"

"No you're not! You just got shot and then ran away from the hospital for some godforsaken reason!"

Sherlock braced himself for yet another lecture, honestly, he wasn't a child!  
>He put Mrs Hudson on mute while he tried deducing what he could from her clothes.<p>

Her clothes were three years old, the style of clothing was _'in' _at that time and of very good quality, so for a woman of wealth, why would she be wearing a dress three years old? Conclusion, money problems. Sherlock should see Mycroft about that, he couldn't have his landlady counting pennies now, could he?  
>Her tidiness issue was getting worse he observed, the dress had been ironed twice... No thrice, in the last week and her hands were dry from cleaning the dishes so much, he could smell the Fairy washing liquid from here! She had been to the barbers today, her hair was much more controlled and neater than normal and he could see some tell-tale hairs on her shoulder that could not have appeared in any other way.<p>

"Sherlock Holmes, are you listening?" Mrs Hudson shouted, breaking Sherlock's train of thought (_stupid expression, when were thought like trains? They were more like internal monologues_). His landlady was becoming more and more irritable, he was going to have to see that he put her on a permanent mute.

Sherlock sighed dramatically and got up from his armchair so he could flop even more dramatically on the sofa, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

"I am going to tell your mother, she has the right to know about your behaviour!" Mrs Hudson said angrily, maybe more angrily than was strictly necessary and maybe her anger was coming from the fact that she spent £5 on scratch-cards and she didn't get anything, again.

Sherlock huffed, where was John when you needed him? He could always calm her down, just a soothing word and she would be all smiles again, oh how he envied John.

Mrs Hudson's rant was still going strong even after ten minutes, picking something new to take her anger out on, _'Why are there toenails in the fridge?' 'Don't you ever clean?'_ Or 'Why _is the bloody bathroom flooded? This'll be coming out from your rent young man!'  
><em>  
>When finally Sherlock had enough, he dragged her downstairs, "Yes, yes, yes fine! For God's sake, Mum, I'll do it, just stop talking!"<p>

Mrs Hudson whirled round so quickly Sherlock knew she would be complaining of a bad back along with her bad hip for weeks, and had such a look written across her face that Sherlock thought that she was about to slap him (_did he say something 'a bit not good?'_).  
>But instead she pulled him into a fierce hug (<em>actually he would rather the slap<em>) and was smiling into his shoulder.

When she pulled away (_finally!_), she had a tear sliding down her cheek and Sherlock sat back in his chair smirking, how was that for soothing words, John?

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><p><em><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So, this fanfiction is basically a congratulatory fanfic for Benedict Cumberbatch on his engagement, (at least that's what MSN said) and I know he probably won't read this, but still! It's also a Bonfire Night fanfiction so here is me wishing you a happy Bonfire Night! :)  
>I got the deductions from The Blue Carbuncle (I tweaked it a bit, so it would fit Mrs Hudson) and yeah... That's all I have to say! :)<em>

_Reviews would be amazing! And I have another Sherlock fanfiction that I'm writing so I'd be grateful if you checked that out, it's called: **The Detective, His Blogger and The Mirror** (oh the shameless self advertising!) Thanks for reading! :)_

**_Until the next time_**

_~ElevenWholockian~_


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